


i'm the king of your city

by chartreuser



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chartreuser/pseuds/chartreuser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jimmy relates himself to a cigarette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm the king of your city

It’s raining at Downton, a heavy downpour.

Jimmy feels irritation springing up at the back of his mind, grits his teeth at Isis who seems fascinated by his shoes. He watches Thomas walk around smoothly, a tray perfectly balanced on his hand as he makes his way up to serve breakfast, until he comes back.

And as always, Thomas makes his way back gracefully, a cordial smile surfacing on his visage when he notices the blond staring, tucks into his breakfast without a word.

Thomas eats his toast quietly. Jimmy doesn’t.

"How’s the hand?" He asks. Jimmy knows of the ache Thomas feels every time it rains, the weather somewhat of a burden considering his occupation.

Squinting at his hand, Thomas murmurs, “‘s fine."

A bell rings and Lady Grantham’s new maid slips out of her seat, shoes clicking on the staircase as the both of them are left to each other, staring pointlessly.

"Does it still hurt?"

Jimmy’s eyes light up at the question, eyebrows narrowed as he shoots a glance to Thomas, glaring at Alfred at the corner of his eye. The under butler does not seem to mind the possibility of him eavesdropping on their conversation, and Jimmy relents, answers.

"It only stings." 

He tries to answer his superior with as much nonchalance he could master, swallowing at Thomas’s impassive face, wills himself to forget about the stubble he had felt against his inner thighs. There’s a bruise on his shoulder, a lighter shade of Thomas’s hair. It feels nice when cloth brushes past that area, a gentle reminder of the previous night.

(Jimmy thinks that it is a bad habit to wake up in another man’s bed all the time, but he doesn’t see a way around it, no, when it feels so  _right_  all the time—)

Thomas’s fingers trace the cover of his book as he shifts his hold, and Jimmy looks away, cuts apart a piece of cold toast.

-

There are secrets. Secrets that he does not want anybody to know, secrets that he’d lie and steal and beg to protect (there are people he is willing to hurt; he is a man so full of insecurities). He wants to bury them all underground, have nothing to do with it for the rest of his life. They are like a bag of diamonds, let someone shady take a peek and they run off with the lot of it, won’t even leave the bag behind.

Thomas has secrets too; he hides them under gloves and layers of livery and those cold, calculating eyes of his, he hides them in the depths of his mind and the pain of his heart. He hides them in himself, thinking that Jimmy will never be able to pry him open.

(But oh, how sweet it is when he does, peeling skin open layer by layer until he sees red underneath,  ** _exposed_** —)

Jimmy sits at the edge of his bed, waits for the alarm to sound so he could rush back to his room, put on his uniform and face the world again, bruises hidden as he walks on two sore legs. 

(It’s a nice experience, he thinks, just doesn’t like the hiding.)

He waits, and waits, and waits until water pours from his eyes and trail down the lines of his features, stills when Thomas wipes away tears until his face is clear again; worries of how much effort he needs to put into escaping the clutches of society, law, sin itself—but Thomas reassures him. 

"No gods are present," he says, sounding somewhat choked himself, the rough cloth of his glove rubbing against his hand, a comforting gesture. “Not when the both of us are in this room."

He does not enjoy crying on another man’s shoulder, thinks it feminine, but remembers that it is Thomas Barrow, and lets go.

(Jimmy’s sold all his diamonds now; thinks wealth a nicer thing to hide.)

-

There is nothing crooked about Thomas once you’ve seen him smoking a fag in the courtyard, rigid eyes and soft lips as smoke filters through the man like foggy weather (or winter, what with its harsh, bitter winds). He looks more vulnerable this way, _kinder_ — though Jimmy thinks of the way he treats him as they share a bed, doesn’t remember a time where he wasn’t a pleasant person to speak to. 

Jimmy listens to the steady breaths he takes as he exhales ash, waits until the flame dies out in his hand. It’s a grim metaphor he thinks of when he compares himself to the cigarette Thomas holds in his hands, wishes that he would not be disposed of as easily as a smoke when he is done with him.

("That will  _never_  happen; you know that," are the words he practically feels when Thomas senses him doubt his affections, though he isn’t too sure if he should be concerned when the other looks away with something on his mind. Repeatedly, as if he is required to remind himself that James Kent is someone fragile—)

He hopes that he is more important than a cigarette every time Thomas Barrow leaves his side for tobacco, hopes that he lasts long enough to feel the warmth of Thomas when his own is not enough.

"Such a bitter thing, being poor in love," someone had once said to him, eyes twinkling with mischief when she flirted uselessly. He presses a hand on Thomas’s arm the way Jenna had done, hopes he wouldn’t look as desperate for him as she had.

Sure enough, Thomas turns to him, offering one before he lights another cigarette, expression incomprehensible, fixed. He wishes he could read his mind there and then, erase every thought Thomas has of inhaling toxic fumes and replace it with himself instead.

"I don’t think I should…" He mutters, but takes it anyway, placing it between his lips and likens it to Thomas’s cock.

_Not anywhere near,_  he almost laughs.  _It actually tastes quite terrible._

He sets it on fire with shaking fingers, drops the match to the ground and wonders how quickly Downton would burn if something in the kitchen went awry, wonders how quickly the both of them would die in each other’s arms. He is almost surprised when he thinks this, realizes that falling in love with Thomas has influenced him badly. 

(but who is he to judge himself when Thomas lures him to bed constantly, without fail?)

Jimmy looks back to Thomas and coughs, splutters before he slips the cigarette back to his fingers when he senses Thomas’s amusement, yanks his out to claim Thomas’s lips back.

"Forget the cigarette, I’m enough."


End file.
